


One Step Closer

by Juls SK Vernet (sarabakanashimi)



Series: Wildemounters [2]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 17:53:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30042477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarabakanashimi/pseuds/Juls%20SK%20Vernet
Summary: This is what happens when you decide to create a character who's paranoid, aloof and just a pain-in-the-ass. You end up with a soft, spooked cleric with PTSD who's incredibly touch-starved and falls in love with a lovely barbarian.That's D&D for you, right? This comes from the Wildemount campaign I'm in at the moment. Seth is mine, Axton is Viviana's and our Master is EVIL and MAGNIFICENT.Written for the prompt "003. Let this moment be the first chapter, where you decide to stay." forLande di Fandom's 11th COWT(Italian only, sorry)
Series: Wildemounters [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2217156
Kudos: 2





	One Step Closer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cuilchan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cuilchan/gifts).



**One Step Closer**

The camp is silent, so silent. It’s never so silent. There’s always somebody chatting or bickering or laughing or cutting wood. Playing cards, even, though they are more often than not Booker’s marked cards and even a solitaire is an adventure without logic.

There’s eight of them under the thick canopy of trees and stars and no one is talking. Faust is on guard duty, Aaron fucked off who knows where to commune with nature or something - probably skinny-dipping in the creek, let’s just hope he does not enrage another dryad or something - Brynn is praying, bless her. Seth would pray, but those comforting words, worn bare after years, even decades of practice do not come easy as usual to his lips. 

Booker and Axton set up their bedrolls next to his and are sitting by the dying embers of the campfire. They are not talking, just sitting next to each other in silent company and any amount of comfort that might bring. Seth would join them, speak with them. But there’s an invisible divide he cannot bring himself to cross. And he would not know how to approach them, how to approach  _ him _ . 

Nine is curled up next to the fire, and purrs loudly - though he is not a cat, remember - a paw over his face and his eyes closed into contented slits. He  _ is  _ a cat. 

What in Ioun’s blessed name is happening to him. To all of them. Where are they going, what are they doing. Yes, the mission is known to the entire party, temporary additions included. And it does not seem to be the most important part of the plan. Perhaps only Aaron deems it quite important to bring back that fabled beast to the Locksmith Lady in Rexxentrum. It’s the key to his freedom and how can a man blame another for his desire to be free? That’s it you can’t.

Then there’s the other mission, the secret one, the mission Expositor Sia Kresh gave Seth and Brynn in a rush, while fearing for the integrity of her sacred Archives. 

Seth brushes a hand over his face, then pushes a bit with the palms on his eyes. He’s tired to the bone and yet sleep eludes him.

Why did he have to leave his relative peace in Port Damali and embark in this enterprise? He’s asked himself so many times from the start. He could very well be a Curator by now but chose to be a mere Archivist in Port Damali, tucked away, discreet, nearly invisible, his bright blue robes notwithstanding. 

He’s somewhat respected in Port Damali. He’s got a tiny life with few thrills and some comfort. He spends his days archiving stuff and reading stuff and praying and exchanging a word with shopkeepers and other acquaintances.

Yet there’s no going back, right? He can’t go back and he doesn’t want to go back. Port Damali will always be a peaceful place to hide but he will never call her home. 

The drie to know more, to discover more, to learn is always there, barely tamed, scarcely restrained. He tells himself he left to find news of his brother, but a stony chill descends on his shoulders and arms and makes him shiver. He does not forget, he will never forget the sensation of turning into cold, helpless stone. 

He’s often been easily overpowered and clumsy. He’s no athlete. He knows. He wasn’t even before the brush with the Cerberus Assembly that left him with a bad leg and an ever worse temper. 

But he’s never been powerless, utterly incapacitated and unable to react in any way. He’s always managed to fend for himself, even to help others if needed. 

This time death came too near and nearly grasped him in his skeletal embrace to bring him away in a last dance. And he could have accepted it. He knows his time will come sooner or later, he doesn’t fear it. But he fears that blasted feeling of helplessness, the feeling of losing his strength, any strength and being a weight, even a danger for others. For a long time he’s been alone, he’s had to count only on his meagre strength and he’s measured his feats according to his ability to overcome them. Now, he has mistepped and his fate looms closer and threatens to end him by transforming him in a grotesque stone statue not even inside the confines of that Godforsaken Savalirwood. 

_ On his brother’s orders.  _

He mutters his brother’s name before noticing then grimaces, those letters once cherished now dry and ashen on his lips, a bitter taste for something once beloved.  _ Mishra _ . 

How can somebody so similar take such a different direction. Where did they go wrong? What makes a man choose his path and decide to travel towards virtue or abomination? 

The point is moot. It’s always the same thing. It’s Knowledge. Coveted, forbidden, hidden, even legendary. No stone left unturned to learn even the tiniest amount of Knowledge. And if Seth has chosen that path towards hopefully good deeds, Mishra always wished for  _ more, easier, faster _ . He doesn’t trouble himself with matters of balance, of control, of measure. He wants everything, he wants it  _ now _ .

_ What have you done, brother mine? _

He will know it soon, he’s sure. If he isn’t killed first. 

He looks at Booker and Axton, now quietly chatting under the stars and trying to work out how to function in their swapped bodies and wishes to sit with them. He wished to sit again Axton’s strong body and be comforted by his presence, perhaps indulge in pleasures of the flesh that might not solve anything, but would definitely drain his anger some and drown it in sweet exhaustion. But he can’t.

“Seth, stop moping, come join us.” It’s Axton’s voice, but the mocking tone is all Booker’s. He tries to refuse, he feels as if he’s stone again and cannot move. He’s cold and uncomfortable.

“Yes, come sit with us. It’s warmer here.” That’s the real Axton, though speaking with Booker’s mellower, higher voice. They make space between them and help him sit down. They each take one of his hands. 

“You’re not alone, you know.”

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t even believe it in full, but his friends' bodies are warm next to his and their words are hopeful. 

He might allow himself to believe them, for a little while. 


End file.
